Free Reprise by C.D. Breadner Page B

makes everything better.”
    “Well it sure as hell doesn’t make it worse .”
    “Drive safe,” was the expected answer, then Jayce turned back to the clubhouse.
    After waiting the usual fifteen minutes Tiny pulled out of the lot, Rusty locking the gate behind him. The streets of Markham were predictably quiet at this time of day, and town limits were in his rearview before he realized it. He kept the speedometer right on sixty, settling in for smooth sailing.
    It took all of four minutes for that to fly out the window. Just as a song he liked came on the radio there were red and blue lights in his mirrors. Turning down the stereo, he could hear the sirens, too.
    “Fucking bullshit.”
    He downshifted, pulled to the shoulder and rolled to a stop well away from the white line, half on the desert sand next to the freeway.
    With another muttered curse he killed the engine and got his papers from the glove box. Straightening in the seat again, he recognized Sheriff Archie Turnbull waddling his way up to the driver’s door.
    There was a time when getting pulled over by the actual Sheriff would have had him straightening his hair and putting on his most charming grin. And things hadn’t changed just because Sharon Downey was now the exclusive old lady of his brother, either. The new sheriff was not nearly as easy on the eyes, as much fun to flirt with, or half as bright as the previous one. So no, this tub of asshole lube was not going to get getting any of his charm.
    He had the window down by the time the used car salesman was next to him, and looking down at that smug fucking face he wished he could spit on the guy. But looking down would have to do.
    “License and registration.”
    Tiny handed down the small folder with all his papers. Not so subtly, the folder also included the route to Hueneme, along with his port access credentials and CARB Drayage Truck approval. It looked even more legit that he was out on the road that day, and when you were delivering for Sachetti it was pretty damn close to being legal. The guy’s pay offs went high and wide.
    This little shit pawing over the things was too far down to get a single trickle of money like that. Didn’t mean he couldn’t be a hassle.
    “Is everything in order?” Tiny asked wryly, knowing it was fucking was.
    “Can you step out of the truck, please?”
    “On what grounds?”
    Turnbull squinted up at him with one eye. “I have reason to believe you may have a firearm in your vehicle.”
    “I do,” Tiny replied, point blank.
    Turnbull blinked, stone still. It took seconds for him to form his next question. “You have a record.”
    “For a driving offense. I also drive truck on long, quiet stretches of roadway. It’s a Glock 9, Sheriff. Registered. In a lock box, under the back of my seat. Right next to my permit to carry while executing my job. It’s for my own safety, it’s what truck drivers do, Sheriff.” He popped the door and climbed down, planting his safety boots on the gravel and turning to Turnbull. The little shit was only about five eleven, and it was satisfying to see his Adam’s apple bob when Tiny crossed his arms across his chest.
    “I got permission. Went through the whole gauntlet getting approvals from all levels of bureaucratic bullshit. But if it makes your pencil dick feel bigger to keep me from meeting my deadline, go for it.”
    Turnbull’s face got red, so that was one point earned. Second point came from was watching him look from the cab to Tiny to the cab and back to Tiny again. He’s fucking scared of me, Tiny realized. And not just because he had inches and about fifty pounds of brawn on the guy.
    Turnbull was smart enough to know that stepping out of his jurisdiction could fuck him. Red Rebels paid for a lawyer. Not a high-brow, clean lawyer but a bull dog just the same. And with two months as Sheriff under his belt Turnbull had just enough brains to know that he knew nothing about what it took to be sheriff. Case in